The Other Side of Bone
by monsterinourheads
Summary: Cassandra Parrish knows that her life is nothing to envy. She knows that she's tired. And in a sick way, she's envious of Lia, because her illness is the one that's unfortunately romanticized. This is Cassie's downfall. This fanfiction shows the real and raw sides of anorexia nervosa and bulimia nervosa. Rated M for graphic (non-sexual) and triggering content.
1. Introduction

They never tell you about the taste of the bile as it spews out of your mouth. They never tell you how you cough like a chain-smoker, tears running down your face as you kneel before the porcelain throne, head in your hands, elbows resting on the edge of the bowl.

They never tell you about the hair that falls out and clogs up the drain, the same hair that your mother scolds you for not brushing, _because it doesn't really matter, right?_

They never mention the sheer panic you feel at family gatherings, because there is too much food and you are too fucking full and you don't think you'll be able to hold it all down anyway.

They never tell you about how you go from home to school to home to fridge/cabinet/pantry, and food moves into your mouth at the speed of a train. Hands reach out and you see them but don't stop them as they reach for food, and then the food is in your mouth and you chew, chew, chew.

And then you realize what you've done, and it's back to square one.

They never tell you about bulimia.

This is Cassie's story.


	2. Chapter 1

I ignore the drone of my mother's voice, my father's fake laughter in response. I have a million better things I could be doing right now.

Instead, I am stuck here in the backseat of _her_ car, driving up to my grandpa's house for July Fourth. She said he should have some people to celebrate the holiday with. I had muttered that did it really matter, given that he had forgotten what was being celebrated in the first place?

My stomach clenches suddenly and I stifle a gasp. Fuck. The cramps have been getting worse, muscles twisting around nothing. I wonder, for a moment, if my body really is that fucked up.

Who am I kidding? Of course it is. I bet my stomach is stretched beyond belief from years (and years, and years) of stuffing my face. My throat is raw and red, both from bile and from cigarettes. My hands shake, and my knuckles are permanently scarred from being scratched against my teeth. My hair feels like straw, my face is swollen, veins in my eyes have burst countless times…

And yet, I am not skinny. I am not thin, I am not slim, I am not slender. I am average. I am, as they tell me, "healthy". I could even "stand to lose a few pounds, healthily, of course".

I am disgusting.

"_Cassie!_" my father is turned around in his seat to look at me. I focus on his face, his eyes. He must have called my name more than once. "I asked where you wanted to stop for lunch."

My mind whirs and my breathing quickens as I scroll through options in my head. No, that one doesn't offer diet soda. No, that one has a bathroom without a fan. No, that one has the server that caught me on accident.

I blurt out the name of the first "safe" restaurant I can think of, a nice little place, especially in the winter. They have hot chocolate to die for. And the French fries? Dear god. My mouth waters.

My mother flicks on the turning signal and turns into the parking lot. The restaurant isn't crowded at all today, just a few cars in the parking lot.

Once inside, I order (of course) a large serving of French fries and a hot chocolate. I don't give a flying fuck that it's summer, I'm not going to just _not_ get hot chocolate, especially when it's as amazing as this.

My mother raises an eyebrow as I take a sip. I'm almost sad that I'll just be getting rid of this later. "Not really the model figure for health, hmmm? Don't you want to order something a bit different today?"

I don't bother pointing out that I've already ordered, as the words "model figure" and "health" swirl around in my head. _Disgusting bitch_, she may as well have said. _Lose a few fucking pounds, we all want you to_.

I choke as I try to swallow the hot chocolate. I look from her to the empty fries container. "No, mom. I'm fine." I smile tightly, while in my head I will her to spontaneously combust. She doesn't, of course.

"I need to go to the bathroom before we start driving again," I announce, and my father barely looks up from his burger. _She_, however, furrows her brow.

"Don't-" she starts, but I cut her off.

"I'm fine, mom," I say again. "I don't do that anymore, remember? _I got better_."

She nods, and doesn't push the subject. I know she doesn't believe me, and she knows that I know. But it's not a big deal, right? I'm fine. I'm not underweight. I don't deserve help, I don't need it.

I push open the door to the bathroom, and lock it behind me. I catch a glimpse of the girl in the mirror, and scowl. She scowls back. Ugly bitch.

I take a deep breath, and walk away from the mirror. Just another day in the life.


	3. Interlude--Lia, Three Years Later

**Interlude—Three Years Later, Lia**

**Song excerpt from Like You by Evanscence**

_You're not alone, _

_No matter what they told you, you're not alone…_

_I'll be right beside you forevermore,_

_I long to be like you, sis,_

_Lie cold in the ground like you did,_

_There's room inside for two_

_And I'm not grieving for you…_

_I'm coming for you._

"COME BACK!" I throw the wine glass against the wall, watch the red liquid drip down the wall as if the ghosts inside are bleeding. "YOU BITCH!" I spin around and punch the bed, and when that isn't enough, I punch the wall, swearing upon impact.

_You could have saved her…she called you thirty-three times…_

It was three years ago but the ache will always remain.


	4. Chapter 2

I gag for the final time, sure that I've gotten everything out. _You'redisgusting/fatbitch/noself-control/die _runs through my head for the thousandth time, but I tune it out. I've learned to, after years. I flush the toilet several times, and then wash my hands using enough soap to satisfy a group of nurses. I peer in the mirror and grab my lipgloss from my pocket, and apply it, then follow up with fixing my smeared eyeliner. I've perfected everything except the art of not looking like shit afterwards.

I turn off the light and walk out, back to the table with my parents. My father stands when he sees me. "You ready to go?"

I nod, and glance at my mother. She's openly glaring, and just looking at her makes me angry. I open my mouth to speak but she brushes past me and walks out of the restaurant to the car. "What's gotten into her?"

My father is a clueless, shit-for-brains man, and I pity him. "No idea," I mutter, then head towards the exit.

My grandfather is the same as he was the last time I saw him—yellowed dentures, wispy hair, no memory, and he smells like moth balls. He keeps calling me Claudia and insists I get down on my knees. My mother quickly intervenes and tells him that I am, indeed, not Claudia, and I won't be getting down on my knees for anyone.

_If only she knew the number of boys that I have gotten on my knees for…_

He yelps when the fireworks start and my father has to restrain him when he goes to get his rifle. "Nazis!" His yells only cease when they're drowned by tea and sleeping pills. Needless to say, I borrow some just to make it through the night. And then I grab a few more, and then a few more.

_Just in case._


End file.
